


Oops, That Might Have Happened

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Jack/Liz Babyfic [2]
Category: 30 Rock
Genre: Comedy, F/M, One Night Stands, Pregnancy, Romance, Series, short series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to "The Antithesis of Miraculous"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oops, That Might Have Happened

Liz found out she was knocked up not in the privacy of her own home, not even alone, but with Jenna and Cerie staring over her shoulder as the test came up positive in an NBC bathroom.

It was not really the experience Liz had dreamed of. No happy partner squeezing her hand with joy. No beaming doctor telling her she was going to be a mom. Nope. Just Jenna choking on her own spit and Cerie stealing her test to look closer while Liz considered if she could possibly kill both of them with her bare hands.

“Oh my God, you are so pregnant,” Cerie said.

“How’d that happen?” Jenna asked. “I thought you broke up with Ron because he was an incredible douchebag. Did you have break-up sex? Are you going to have a break-up sex baby?”

“No,” Liz said, staring dazedly at her positively blue-lined test. “It is so much worse than that, I can’t tell you.”

And with that Liz took her pregnancy test, went back into her bathroom stall, and closed and locked the door.

“Did you sleep with Frank?” Jenna suggested.

“NO,” Liz said. “This isn’t a writer’s baby. Or Ron’s baby, either.”

“Then it can’t be that bad,” Jenna said. “Cerie, tell her.”

Cerie shrugged. “Was it a homeless guy?” she asked.

“Go away, you guys,” Liz pleaded. “I cannot tell you who the father is. Is father even the right word? Genetic co-parent. Who I am not telling you about.”

“If you don’t come out in an hour, I’m getting Jack Donaghy to give you a pep talk,” Jenna said, tapping her foot. “Like the time when you freaked out over Floyd and wore that wedding dress to impress Seinfeld. Remember?”

At that, Liz started to cry. “Go away, Jenna,” she said. “Leave me alone. You are not going to be sporting the bump, so lucky you, okay?”

“I _will_ get him,” Jenna said.

“You do that,” Liz said, sniffling.

The girls clacked away in their heels, and Liz stopped crying, because she was crying in an NBC bathroom stall and in an hour, Jack was going to come yell at her and she was going to have to tell him that she was pregnant and he was the father. Genetic co-parent. Whatever.

Liz did not want to think about what happened after that. Also, the sixteen-year-old girl aspect of it was making her want to stab people. Mostly herself.

Why had she done Jack anyway? Yeah, she’d just broken up with Ron. For the first time ever, Liz had broken up with a guy and not felt bad about it and it hadn’t taken a visit from Dateline or ANYTHING. Liz had been really proud of herself, and Jack had been pleased, too.

“Lemon,” he’d said, “Cultivating your social graces has been one of the few bright spots in this position.”

He’d been dating that awful woman, Alison the Mega-Hooch, who was friends with one of the Real Housewives. Jack had met her at some Bravo event, and while Alison had the good points of being forty-five instead of twenty-five, and actually liking to eat sometimes, she had the bad points of _everything else about her_.

“Why do you keep dating these women?” asked Liz, looking out over the city. They’d been standing there on his balcony, eating cheese popcorn and talking about why Jack had to dump Alison. “Every time you date a stupid bimbo, you gain five pounds and fire someone. It’s stupid, Jack. Meet someone smart who challenges you. There have to be plenty of women who would love to date you.”

“Say what you mean, Lemon. There are plenty of women who would love to date my money and appreciate having a presentable escort to the whirl of charity events, premieres, soirees, and intimate gatherings that the elite of New York patronize to determine status,” Jack replied. “Is it so much to ask that someone who doesn’t take my wealth and status into account falls into my clutches?”

Liz snorted. “Cry more, emo rich boy,” she said. “I think your money makes you a jerk, so hey, you’ve got one person who mostly likes you and doesn’t care about your money.”

“Yes, but you’ve made it clear on several occasions that you think meeting Bigfoot is more likely than a serious relationship between us,” Jack replied.

“Well…yeah,” Liz said, baffled by the retort. “Because you told me that first. Also because you’re my boss, twelve years older than me, and you once made me leave a prostitute in the street.”

Jack seemed not to remember that. “Leaving that aside, we’re otherwise perfectly compatible?” he asked.

Liz thought about it. “We like food, yelling at Kenneth to relieve stress, smart people, and NBC,” she said. “Also, we’re workaholics with severe commitment issues. That’s a form of compatible.”

“However, we have no idea if we have any physical chemistry,” Jack added.

“Yes!” Liz agreed. “I mean, if I was to do this…”

She seriously had meant to fake-kiss him and discover they were not meant to be, but that was not how things went down. For some reason, her “feeling good about Jack as a friend-mentor-evil boss” side was way in force, so Liz had reached up, touched the side of his face, and kissed him with a smile on her stupid face.

It had actually been kind of sweet, so she’d kissed harder, and Jack had kissed back, putting his hand over hers.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” Jack murmured, stroking her hair.

“That wasn’t half-bad,” Liz agreed, feeling a little out of breath. “I was gonna say, ‘If I was to do this…it would just show how much we don’t work’ but.”

“Try again. We need to make sure,” Jack said.

Liz kissed him again. This time, her tongue flickered out between her teeth and happened to cross his and suddenly his hand was in her hair which was already kind of sweaty, and if Liz was not mistaken, she had chemistry with the boss.

“Stop dating Alisons,” Liz whispered when they came up for air. “It kind of bugs me when I have to be your fake girlfriend or dying cousin or problem employee to get rid of them.”

“Only if there are no more Rons,” Jack said. “You’re wasting your last fertile years on these milquetoast losers who would be married if they were worth it. And they always ask me for free passes to Conan when you aren’t looking.”

Liz had stuck her hand out. “Agreed.”

“Agreed,” Jack said, shaking her hand. “Want to get married in Atlantic City, Lemon?”

“Um, no,” Liz said, walking backward into his office and pulling him with her. She’d tripped. He’d made sure she didn’t fall. “We haven’t even had sex yet. I mean, absolutely not. Not under any circumstances.”

“So now you do want to have sex with me,” Jack said. It hadn’t been a question.

Liz was pregnant entirely because she had been wearing a dress that day, because her answer had been to take her underwear off and step out of them. If she’d had to take off her actual pants, she never would have had the guts.

He’d whistled. “Ay dios mio,” Jack said. “Aren’t you aggressive?”

“I do things for spite. Also because I want to see where this chemistry thing falls apart,” Liz replied. “Also, there’s no way you’re going to do anything about this.”

So Liz had gotten pregnant about forty-five minutes later on Jack Donaghy’s favorite negotiating chair, bouncing up and down and sweating like someone who went to the gym. While cross-eyed and with her purple dress hiked up almost to her breasts, bitching about how he’d promised she got one more before he finished and see if Liz ever trusted Jack again with her lady parts.

So okay, it had been pretty good. There was something about how Jack was good to talk trash to that made him good to talk dirty to and apparently a good half of Liz’s sex issues were not wanting to talk dirty to nice guys which had meant Jack? Was great in that regard.

Not the point. The point was that Liz had been fatally irresponsible and now she was sitting on an NBC toilet with the evil blue line of far too many recent movie comedies.

And Jenna was going to send Jack after her, and probably announce to the set, “Oh my God, everyone. Liz is pregnant. Did any of you sleep with her?”

Actually, okay, Liz would have liked to see Jack’s expression upon putting that together. She _was_ only human and she had a tiny collection of cells rapidly dividing and becoming proto-human inside her that were made of Donaghy-bits.

Also, Liz really wanted a jelly donut with extra powdered sugar. Which she couldn’t get trapped in a stall crying over her pregnancy.

Liz was actually still weighing the pros and cons of jelly donuts versus the shame to come when the bathroom door banged open. And yep, those were man footfalls. And that was Jack’s hand under the stall door.

“Let me see it,” he said. Liz handed it over. “Holy St. Francis, you’re having _my_ baby?”

“Gross. Did you really need to say it that way?” Liz asked. “I mean. It wasn’t. There was no decision made. I didn’t say, ‘hey, Jack, wanna make a baby?’ We just did.”

No response from Jack.

“Jack?” Liz asked. “Did you die? I promise, you don’t have to marry me. Or do anything. It does not even have to be your baby except in the genetic co-parent sense.”

“So you’re going to keep it,” Jack said.

“Papa don’t preach and all of that,” Liz said. “Unless that really bothers you. Also, I want to stress that this was an accident and I didn’t have some bizarre stalker plan to steal your manly essence. I just got excited and then there was the whole part where I forgot words because of what you did with your hand and…”

Another long pause. “We were not careful, no,” Jack said. “And now you’re crying in a bathroom stall. It’s like being back in Catholic school.”

Liz sniffled and then blew her nose. “Now I have this mental image of me in a plaid skirt and a really big crucifix being walked down the halls with two mean-ass old nuns flanking me while you trot behind and yell, ‘I’ll call you!'” she said.

“Am I wearing a varsity jacket in this absurdist fantasy?” Jack asked.

“No, you’re wearing a tie,” Liz said. “And the writers are all giving you high-fives. They’ve got the varsity jackets. Except Frank. He looks exactly the same.”

“Frank in a varsity jacket does strain credulity,” Jack agreed. “Open the door, Lemon, you’re too old to cry in the bathroom over an unplanned pregnancy.”

“Are you okay with this?” asked Liz. “Not okay okay, because hey, I’m not okay. But if I decide that hey, this is my filthy miracle oopsie and I’m going to have it and love it and name it George, that won’t make you too mad, right?”

“As long as you don’t name anything with my genetics George, Lemon, I accept your choice,” Jack said.

Liz opened the door. Thank God, Jack was not wearing a varsity jacket. His hair was a wreck, though, and Liz had a weird desire to fix it for him, straighten his tie and promise it would be okay.

Flippin’ fetch, this was awkward. They were just looking at each other, gawking really, totally not having anything to say to each other.

“I’m so sorry,” Liz said.

“You and I share equally in our failure of birth control,” Jack said smoothly. “What tipped you off that you might be in a family way?”

Liz started to laugh, because that was going to make him die of laughter. Also, in a family way? Ew.

“Actually, Jenna was sure she was pregnant,” Liz explained. “She made me and Cerie pee on sticks because the first test was inconclusive. And then bam, the little blue line.”

“The irony staggers. Do women do that often? Is that why you go in groups?” Jack asked.

“No, but Jenna would not shut the hell up, so I humored her. As I do,” Liz said. “Did she put it together when she tattled on me?”

Jack suddenly looked at the ceiling. Dag. Crap. Now Liz really wished she’d seen the look on his face when Jenna made the announcement. Or that one of the writers or Josh had captured it and sent it to YouTube.

“I may have caught myself out in a moment of shock,” Jack confessed. “Things may have gotten out of hand.”

“What did you DO?” Liz asked, wide-eyed. “Are there going to be cops?”

And she was trying to have this man’s baby. Why was Liz stupid?

Also, he was giving her a look. Like maybe Liz looked as freaked out as Jack looked and he wanted to hug her and help her get the swelling to go down around her eyes. Freaky.

“I fainted,” Jack said.

“You fainted?” Liz asked, starting to laugh. “So I cried in the bathroom and you fainted. We’re not living this one down.”

“No, we’re going to have to rebuild from here,” said Jack. “Which means professionalism. We fucked up, but we’re moving ahead the way adults do, with legal agreements, parental right divisions that respect both of our wishes, and never, ever telling my mother.”

Liz nodded. Excellent plan. “Professionalism. Not telling Colleen. I like these plans,” she said. “Good deal.”

She stuck her hand out to shake. Jack took it, but instead of shaking hands, they mutually pulled each other forward, collided, and maybe started kissing.

“This is failing at professionalism,” Liz said as Jack worked on her neck.

“Professionalism starts after we make out in the bathroom,” Jack said. “Nothing truly professional starts in an NBC bathroom, no matter what you’ve heard about ER.”

“Okay,” Liz said, jumping onto the edge of the sink. “What if we can’t stop doing this?”

“Do you really think that’s a problem?” asked Jack. Which Liz would have answered, but Jack was doing a thing to her earlobe, and so now Liz was too busy not-caring to come up with an answer.

Because yeah. Really. One make-out session, and one night of going at it in Jack’s office may have led to a baby, but a relationship?

Whatever. No. Not a chance.


End file.
